By LEE HILL KAVANAUGHThe Kansas City Star

In the early weeks of December 2001,there were good days for HannahSaulsbury.

Days when she could play like anyother toddler. Days when she asked tohave her fingernails painted with polish.Days when the 3 year-old didn't feel thepain -- the "owies," she called it -- fromher cancer.

Her 5-year-old brother, Hunter, didn'tcare that Hannah was bald from her radi-ation therapy. "Bubba" just liked beingwith her.

And Christmas was almost here, withall its’ magic of Santa Claus and reindeerand baby Jesus' birthday rolled into one.One morning during play, Hannah andHunter had great fun pretending theywere at the North Pole with Santa.

Maybe it wasn't mere coincidence thatat that moment their mommy, ValerieSaulsbury, overheard them. Or that a mantelephoned hours later saying an organi-zation wanted to give Hannah a Christmasgift because of her illness.

The man, known as Chief Elf, was withthe Elves of Christmas Present, a localgroup that tries to make Christmas extraspecial for a few families who have had adifficult year.

The Elves' gifts can be extraordinary.Once they brought mountains to a boywho was too sick to go to the mountainshimself. Another time they added bed-rooms to a second-story addition onChristmas Eve, working all night to keepa father's promise.

Adults never really believe that theElves can execute their grandiose plans.Saulsbury doubted, too. Still, she toldChief Elf about their pretend game of vis-iting the North Pole with Santa.

"I laughed as I told him, thinking it wastoo far out," she remembered. But it wasexactly what Chief Elf wanted to hear.

She didn't know that the Elves havegreat connections -- including a very spe-cial link with Santa himself -- who isoften a co-conspirator with them.

Days later Chief Elf called again: Howwould Hannah and Hunter like to fly withSanta on Christmas Eve?

******

When Santa got the request from ChiefElf, he wasn't so sure about the flyingpart.

His sleigh was not an option for anyoneexcept himself. It has only one seat belt,he said. "A sharp turn and we'd loseeverybody."

Chief Elf had a much better idea than acold, open-air sleigh. An elf in KansasCity was also a pilot, with a helicopteravailable.

At first, Santa wasn't thrilled about thatplan, either. Standing 6 feet tall andweighing 350 pounds, he was nervous

about fitting inside a flying machine.But he remembered the trials the

Saulsbury family had endured. He knew itwas a universal childhood fantasy to flywith Santa.

So he agreed. Hannah and Hunterwould be the only children in the world tohelp him deliver gifts to one family onChristmas Eve.

The children were ecstatic when theirparents told them about the honor.

Hannah, gesturing with her handswide, told her grandparents and all hernurses and doctors at Children's MercyHospital. Hunter told some of his fellowkindergartners but was more reserved.

"I didn't tell a lot of other kids," he saidlater. "I didn't want them to feel badbecause they weren't chosen."

Days passed. Brother and sister talkedeach night about the ride. Hannah could-n't mention it without giggling.

"Her expressions were so vivid," saidValerie Saulsbury. "Maybe even more so

THE KANSAS CITY STAR.$1.25 Metropolitan Edition Sunday, December 22, 2002

Taking flight with Santa, a little boy soars above sorrow

Magical gift brightens a dark night

Photo courtesy of the Elves of Christmas PresentJust before taking 5-year-old Hunter Saulsbury on a Christmas Eve flight, Santa openedhis book to Hunter’s page. “it says right here that you were a big help to your sisterHannah. I’m very proud of you for that.”

because she didn't have any hair. Her bigblue eyes...she was so thrilled."

But a few nights before Christmas Eve,Hannah's bubbly personality faded. OnChristmas Eve morning, hours beforeliftoff, something was terribly wrong.Hannah was listless, her breathing raspy.At noon her family called 911.

In the ambulance, oxygen revived her.The paramedics asked her whether shehad any pain. She shook her head no. Buther mommy knew better.

"Hannah, it's OK to say if you haveowies. Do you?"

Hannah slowly nodded her head yesand began to cry.

Then she lost consciousness and didn'tfeel the pain anymore.

******

The next few hours at Children'sMercy Hospital were a blur to theSaulsbury family.

The medical staff's voices soundeddistant to Hannah's parents: "She's notin pain, but she's bleeding internal-ly....Is there anyone you want to call?She's not responding....Do you have ado-not-resuscitate order on yourdaughter? What should we do if herheart stops?"

Valerie Saulsbury cradled Hannahin her arms. This wasn't supposed tobe happening yet. The doctors hadtold them they had more time.

She looked down at her daughteragain. Hannah's body was bruised andswollen from the cancer. Any resusci-tation would probably break her ribs.Valerie looked at Wylie, Hannah'sdaddy.

"We'll have to let her go if it comesto that," she told the staff.

At 3:50 p.m. the blips on Hannah'sheart monitor began slowing, and thenstopped. The family held one anotherand said their goodbyes. Hunter leanedover Hannah, whispering: "You won'thave to take that yucky medicine anymore."

But Valerie couldn't stop holding herlittle girl. A nurse suggested they giveHannah a bath. Together they painted herfingernails once more, and then dressedher in her flowered pajamas. After fourhours, Valerie let her daughter go.

The drive home on Christmas Eve wasthe loneliest ride the family ever took.

At home, their phone message light

was blinking. It was Chief Elf, trying invain to reach them, leaving almost adozen messages wondering where theywere.

Valerie called, telling him aboutHannah. Then she hesitated, with thesilence hanging in the air: "Could Hunterstill go? We don't want him to rememberChristmas as the day his sister died.

Chief Elf swallowed hard."Of course," he said.Santa, the pilot and the ground crew

learned of Hannah's death 10 minutesbefore takeoff. Santa's tears formed ici-cles on his beard. He prayed for the rightwords to say to the family. Not feelingjolly or merry, he tried hard to pull him-self together.

Before long a car's headlights glim-mered in a near-empty parking lot atJohnson County Executive Airport.

It was the Saulsburys

******

Christmas Eve had turned bitterly cold.So cold that even through his velveteen

suit, long johns and natural padding,Santa was still freezing. As the heli-copter's engines warmed up, the propellerwash felt like an Arctic blast.

Santa saw a little boy climb out of thecar, and then two young parents, theireyes haggard.

Earlier that day Santa had two Santahats specially made for Hunter and

Hannah. But as he waited inside theKansas City Aviation Center's lobby, heslipped Hannah's hat into his pocket.

"I'm sorry about Hannah," Santa said tothe family, after an awkward silence.Hunter looked away. The Saulsburys nod-ded.

Clearing his throat, Santa looked atHunter and said: "Now, let's talk aboutyou." He picked up a 3-inch-thick bookcovered in red felt, titled Santa Book inwhite felt letters.

The book was a record of all the goodboys and girls Santa had visited so far in2001. He turned to Hunter's page.

Hunter's eyes grew wide as Santanamed the Saulsburys' pets, Hunter's bud-dies and Hunter's hobbies. Then hesquinted at one last note scrawled in themargin.

Santa hesitated, and then looked deepinto Hunter's blue eyes.

"It says right here that you were a bighelp to your sister Hannah. I'm veryproud of you for that."Santa moved on, telling him about thefamily they were delivering presents to.Hunter's job was to protect the sack ofgifts until the helicopter landed. ButHunter had a question."Where is the sleigh or the reindeer?"he asked, doubt seeping into his voice.Santa explained about the reindeer'sfatigue after traveling around theworld, that they were grazing in a fieldnearby. He told him about the sleigh'ssmall space and its lone seat belt, andhow the helicopter was big enough forall of them.Hunter forgot his disappointment whenthe ground crew led the family to thechopper and handed out headsets sothat everyone could talk to one another.Seat belts clicked. The helicopter'sengines revved up. And within minutesthey were airborne.The helicopter sped through the cold

night air, pausing to float above the bestChristmas lights in Kansas City: thePlaza.

There were spires and domes outlinedin red, green and white lights. A horsepulled an illuminated buggy, inching itsway down 47th Street. Last-minute shop-pers darted from store to store.

Santa told Hunter a story about how thereindeer had gotten their job pulling thesleigh. First he tried elephants, he said,because they were so strong. But theywere too heavy for rooftops. He tried

Photo courtesy of the Elves of Christmas PresentAs Christmas 2001 approached, Hannah and HunterSaulsbury, seen in a picture from 2000, imaginedthey were at the North Pole with Santa Claus.Wanting to help Hannah (right), who had cancer, theElves of Christmas Present had found the inspirationfor a remarkable Christmas gift.

horses, too, but they were scared ofheights. Kangaroos made Santa sleighsickwith all their jumping.

Ostriches -- he learned the hard way --couldn't fly at all. Flamingos were tooweak, requiring exactly 422 of them justto make the sleigh lurch forward. Andtheir pink feathers certainly clashed withhis red suit.

As Santa talked, a noise like soft musicfiltered through all the headsets.

Hunter was giggling.

******

The helicopter was approaching itsgoal: a home in a cul-de-sac in Olathenamed Sleepy Hollow, where Santa andHunter would deliver presents.

Directly below the helicopter was aninnovative landing pad. Like a giant letterC, six vehicles faced outward in drive-ways, angling their high beam headlightsto the center, red emergency lights flash-ing. A ground crewman waved a flash-light upward directing the pilot, whilealso making sure that people kept a safedistance from the helicopter's rear rotors.

Crowds of people gathered. Cars alongthe street slowed, too. The curiousgawked at a helicopter landing in the sub-urbs.

Santa exited first. He was going to slipdown the chimney and then open thehome's front door for the others. Hunter

leaped out next, hoisting Santa's sack overone shoulder, like an elf pro. He was grin-ning so wide at the front door that Santahad to laugh.

But there was a moment of panic:Santa had trudged black, sooty footprintson the light shag rug leading from thechimney to the front door.

"Oh, no!" he whispered, squattingdown trying to rub away the soiled stains."This happens sometimes," he toldHunter. Hunter tried to help him clean upthe mess, too.

Santa workedquickly, arrang-ing the presentsexpertly underthe Christmastree. There werecookies andmilk, whichSanta offered tothe Saulsburys,and a carrot forthe reindeer. Inless than 10 min-utes their gooddeed was done,but not beforeSanta noted thatHunter's faceglowed, rightalong with hisparents'.

The heli-copter's engineswhined. Bladestwirled faster.

Airborne once more, the pilot askedHunter what his favorite color ofChristmas lights was.

"Blue!" he said, without any hesitation.So off they flew, looking for as many

blue lights as they could see from the air.That's when Wylie Saulsbury noticed theywere near their own house.

But something was different.The Saulsburys' subdivision in Olathe

has more than 30 homes. But as theylooked down, only one house had itsChristmas lights on -- their own.

The helicopter flew closer.Hours before, word of Hannah's death

had spread quickly. Many neighborsstood in their doorways and cried as theyheard, remembering the little girl withcurls flying, playing up and down theirstreet.

As a way to honor the brightness of hershort life, they had turned off their own

Christmas lights and darkened theirhomes. Others stripped strands of lightsfrom their own shrubbery and trees to cre-ate one shining memorial for theSaulsburys.

An 8-foot birch in the Saulsburys' frontyard now glowed with hundreds of lights-- Hannah's Tree.

Their plan was to surprise theSaulsburys when they arrived from thehospital. They didn't know the family wasin a helicopter flying with Santa, 500 feetabove them.

Then Hunter's voice spoke above thedrone of the engines.

"I wish Hannah was here."No one uttered a word.But the pilot's eyes were so blurred

with tears that he struggled to land thechopper. On the cold tarmac, Santahugged Hunter.

"She was here, too," he said, handinghim Hannah's Santa hat from his pocket.

"She was right here with us, Hunter."

******

The new year brought happiness oncemore to the Saulsburys.

The little birch tree survived theJanuary ice storm. Although buffeted byharsh winds, it didn't break.

Soon they received another pricelessgift: Valerie was pregnant.

On Sept. 27, Macy Hannah Saulsburywas born. On a recent day Valerie cradledher tiny daughter. Macy cooed andsmiled, her eyes as big and blue asHannah's were.

The family's Christmas stockings werehung by the fireplace, includingHannah's. Hunter, now 6, hung it therehimself.

He still hasn't told many people abouthis ride, for the same reasons he didn't tellthem before. But his belief in Santa Clausis rock-solid.

He has proof, he said, remembering thesooty footprints. And because he is aneyewitness authority -- being the only kidin the world to fly with Santa onChristmas Eve -- he wants all nonbeliev-ers to know something.

"Any kid who doesn't believe in SantaClaus, well, I feel really sorry for them....All their presents probably do just comefrom their parents."

NORMAN NG/ The Kansas City StarSanta paid a reunion visit to Hunter on Saturday night at theSaulsburys’ Olathe home. A year after his priceless Christmas gift,Hunter can smile about another: Baby sister Macy Hannah was bornin September.